


hate when the moment's expected

by harperuth



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Developing Relationship, Exhibitionism, M/M, Public Sex, Sex Toys, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, background Ratchet/Hot Rod/Knock Out, more general aligned than actually tfp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24023893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harperuth/pseuds/harperuth
Summary: Jazz rolled his helm over to stare up at Ratchet, who wasn’t even looking at him, rather tracking something behind them in the bar mirror, “Ask me how the interfacin’ was last night. Ask me.”“How was the interfacing last night with the mech you spent an orn daydreaming about before so much as making a move, Jazz?” Ratchet rolled his optics, taking another pull of his engex.“It was fine.”- - -Or, Jazz and Orion make it better than fine. Giveaway fic for M, who asked for JazzOP!
Relationships: Jazz/Optimus Prime, Jazz/Orion Pax
Comments: 14
Kudos: 86





	hate when the moment's expected

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StarlightCaptivator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightCaptivator/gifts).



> thank you to M for following and for finally giving me an excuse to dip into jazzop!!
> 
> title is from 'earned it' by the weeknd, because i mean. jazz.

Jazz sighed as his overload hit, nodes sparking feebly around Orion’s spike. 

It was...fine. 

Orion rolled to the side, quiet as he was in everything. Quiet when he overloaded, quiet after it, polite and not leaving his weight to sag onto Jazz.

It was...fine.

Jazz rolled into him, snuggling up to Orion’s side. He kept his optics offline, and pretended to be recharging long before he actually was.

\- - -

“He’s _killin’ me_ , Ratch,” Jazz groaned, letting his helm drop to the bar top in front of him.

“Mhm,” Ratchet agreed, sounding far less sympathetic than he should.

“I’m pullin’ out all my best moves!” Jazz rolled his helm over to stare up at Ratchet, who wasn’t even looking at him, rather tracking something behind them in the bar mirror, “Ask me how the interfacin’ was last night. _Ask me_.”

“How was the interfacing last night with the mech you spent an orn daydreaming about before so much as making a move, Jazz?” Ratchet rolled his optics, taking another pull of his engex.

“It was fine,” Jazz chose to ignore the impertinence. For now.

“Oh how terrible,” Ratchet grumbled, distracted once more.

“I pride myself on nothin’ less than _mindblowin'_ , m’mech,” Jazz hauled himself back upright to mouth at his straw, “Ya know this.”

Ratchet snorted, optics tracking... _there_.

“Oh? What’s this?” Jazz leaned over and laid his helm on Ratchet’s shoulder joint, getting a better angle on the red speedster he’d been opticking all night, “He’s pretty.”

Ratchet exvented, knocking his helm into Jazz in annoyance. He was gonna spill. Otherwise, Jazz would just use his access and find out himself, “Hot Rod. New Racer type. Pretty sure he’s involved with one of the kids I TA.”

Jazz watched him dance, frame loose and sleek, inviting in the way all those Racer frames were. He also watched another sleek red frame join him; Hot Rod reaching out and giving the new one’s winglet tire a spin, goofy smile on his face plates. Ratchet exvented again, “Yeah, that one.”

“Pretty pair,” Jazz said softly, nuzzling into Ratchet’s shoulder, “Drown yer sorrows with me?”

Ratchet upended the rest of his drink, “Just mine. You’re at least getting laid.”

Jazz dropped his helm back down to the bar, “Sort of.”

\- - -

Jazz shifted from pede to pede outside of Orion’s door. 

Catch him off guard. Change things up. All things Jazz had done before with other mecha when it looked like it was about to peter out, one last shot’o’Jazz before he was gone. He didn’t want to be gone with Orion, but he was hoping the principle applied to bringing their interface up from _fine_.

Primus. _Fine_. Jazz had never loathed a glyph so much in his entire functioning.

He steeled himself and finally pressed the buzzer to Orion’s apartment, dancing back to lean against the opposite wall. Calm, cool, collected, that was him.

The door remained shut.

Jazz dialled up his audial sensors, but didn’t hear anything moving. He pressed the buzzer again after waiting a bit. A bit of scuffling. He dialled his sensors back down and arranged himself casually against the door frame. The door slid open and Orion stumbled, “Jazz?”

Jazz let his optics trace a path from Orion’s pedes up. His plating was a little scuffed like usual, flaring out and in at random intervals. When Jazz finally met his optics, they seemed just a bit brighter than usual, “Hey sweetspark, wanna go out?”

“Oh,” Orion’s plating shuffled again, but a small smile finally appeared, “I— Come in a moment, I’ll just—”

“You’ll nothin’,” Jazz darted a servo out, snagging Orion’s own. He wasn’t falling for that again; they’d already had plenty of nights in at Orion’s place, doing nothing but talking. Talking was all well and good, and it was always with Orion, but Jazz was a mech of _action_ , “I’m payin’, no creds necessary, and you look great.”

“I—” Orion squeaked, stumbling forward at Jazz’s tug.

“Hey,” Jazz stopped pulling, stepping into Orion’s space, shivering at the heat output that licked at his frame, “Ya don’t— I wanna take ya out real bad, but m’not gonna make ya.”

Orion sucked an invent and stared down at Jazz, optics wide and Jazz’s newest favorite shade of blue, “We can go.”

“Great!” Jazz chirped, pulling Orion along behind him, “I got just the place for us, m’mech.”

Orion squeaked behind him, stumbling a bit before finding a stride to match Jazz’s.

\- - -

His. Best. Moves.

If there was one thing Jazz knew that he was good at, that made him attractive, it was dancing. He dragged Orion to the floor the second they had gotten in and gotten to work. Orion walked with a natural swing to his frankly illegal hips, but right now he was locked up tight. Jazz did everything he could, but the mech wouldn’t loosen up.

“Wanna drink?” Jazz finally conceded, frustration starting to show in his own movement, and no one needed that.

“Please,” Orion mouthed back. The music was loud here, but Jazz still caught the whimper that left Orion when they started moving to the bar. Jazz considered this and led them to the end of the bar, pushing him back against the wall and waving the bartender down.

Jazz kept an optic on Orion, watching how he melted back against the wall, shuttering his optics. His plating was still ruffling, the way it had been all night like...like he was trying to dump heat without turning his fans on. Jazz narrowed his optics, ignoring the engex placed in front of him.

“Orion?” Jazz asked softly, crowding into his space, “Ya alright?”

Orion unshuttered his optics, and they were bled nearly cyan. He fixed his bleary gaze on Jazz, “I’m—”

“Yer overheating,” Jazz continued, just as softly, “And yer joints seem a little locked up.”

“I—” Orion cycled his intake, “You surprised me.”

Jazz moved forward, the heat pouring out of Orion washing over him, “Mhm.”

“I was, um, busy,” Orion slid down the wall a bit to better match Jazz’s height. He keened when his hips pushed out into the motion, “When you showed up and um—”

Jazz felt his optics fly wide, a smirk curling over his face plates.

“I panicked,” Orion squeaked out, looking anywhere but Jazz.

“Have I been readin’ ya wrong this whole time?” Jazz asked, finally giving in and plastering himself to Orion’s front, “Darlin’, why didn’t ya _say_ somethin’?”

Orion keened again, those dangerous hips of his rolling, pressing his near molten array cover against Jazz, “I don’t know! I thought— Oh Primus, it was what you wanted.”

Jazz considered those moments when they had first fallen into berth together. Jazz was good in berth, good with mechs; he knew how to please ‘em. It made him insistent at times, that surety that he knew how to coax the best for other mechs out. He’d always directed them to the same logical conclusion of Orion spiking him. Apparently, not so logical.

“M’sorry sweetspark. I can, ah, run away with my assumptions sometimes. Comes with the territory,” Jazz curved a servo around Orion’s array cover, intending only to tease, but it snapped away, letting him trace the base of the toy in Orion’s valve. It was rather impressive, false charge arcing to ground itself on Jazz's plating.

“Oh Primus,” Orion whimpered, “Jazz, I— Please—”

“Shh,” Jazz pressed a kiss to the edge of his windshield and turned around, moving until his back was pressed up against Orion’s chest, optics out to club, “I gotcha.”

He reached back with one arm and started up a slow wind to the music with his hips. Nothing to see here, just two mechs dancing. His servo traced back down to Orion's valve, flirting with his anterior node briefly. 

Orion dropped his helm down to Jazz’s shoulder, pushing up into the contact. Jazz tracked the dancers still on the floor, watching two femmes wind together slowly to the beat as it swung towards something a little deeper, darker. He reached for the toy in Orion, pulling it out just enough to make a difference when he thrust it back in.

“Jazz,” Orion gasped, servo coming up to grip at Jazz’s side, big enough to curl around scrape pretty enticingly at his abdominal plating. Jazz brought his free servo up to cover Orion’s.

Jazz kept up his thrusts with the toy in time with the beat and the swing of his hips, never pulling it out too far before plunging back in. Orion shook behind him, sweet whines and moans muffled in Jazz’s neck. Jazz kept a digit on the toy and let his palm slide up to Orion’s anterior node, letting the motion of his frame grind his servo back.

Orion scraped at his plating as his servo tightened, hips rolling up to meet Jazz’s movement. He was remarkably quiet as he overloaded, and Jazz wanted nothing more in that moment than to hear him _lose it_. Jazz let his servo drop with one last caress at the base of Orion’s toy, enjoying the shudder it produced in Orion that wracked both their frames.

The femmes he had been watching twined together closer, helms tipped forward into each other’s. They were sweet, clearly lost in the other. He timed the cycle of his vents to their movements, to the beat, while Orion gasped behind him. Jazz waited until he was no longer on a blade’s edge of popping his own panel, then brought his digits up to suck the lubricant off of them. He turned to nuzzle at Orion’s helm.

“Take me home?” Orion murmured, his panel sliding shut once more.

\- - -

Jazz had never felt more tuned up and turned around in his entire functioning.

They tripped their way into Orion’s apartment, coming to a stop barely inside. Orion usually kissed slowly, thoughtfully. Small and sweet, just like that smile. Now he was kissing to _devour_. 

Jazz groaned, letting himself be led wherever Orion wanted. Directing had gotten them into enough trouble already, he wanted to see what would happen. So far, so good.

Orion pulled back from their kiss a nanoklik before shoving Jazz back into the only seat in his small apartment, a plush, widened armchair. Jazz let himself sink, staring up at Orion with what he was sure was yearning.

“Frag,” Orion shuddered, fans clicking up a notch, “You always—”

Jazz kept quiet, kept his optics on Orion, who stared back almost helplessly. He seemed to square himself finally, arranging Jazz further back in the chair and nudging his legs together before perching on the edge himself, his knees bracketing Jazz’s. Jazz let his optics fall to Orion’s array panel in front of him, digits flexing when he remembered what lay behind it.

“You watch me,” Orion said softly, hips starting to wind a little, back and forth, utterly hypnotizing. No mech with a face like that, shoulders like that, should be in possession of such hips, “You did for _ages_. I didn’t think you were ever going to make a move.”

Jazz’s optics snapped back up to Orion’s face, sheepish smile making itself known, “I thought I was subtle.”

“Oh, you were,” Orion assured, hips moving, moving, moving. Jazz brought a servo up to feel them, and Orion grabbed it and his other, pinning them to the arms of the chair, “But a mech knows when they’re being watched. Figured you out after a bit.”

Jazz watched. He wasn’t able to do anything else, and Orion seemed disinclined to let him. Orion smirked down at him, “Can’t tell you how many times my plating itched in dark corners of the Archives and I had to stop myself from self-servicing right there.”

“Orion,” Jazz gasped. Where was his sweet, _quiet_ , a little boring berth partner?

“Or knowing I was alone but for your optics, then sliding my panel back and going about my work?” Orion’s hips hadn’t quit their motion with his words, and Jazz heard the sound of panel locks disengaging, “Bending over and letting you glimpse just a tease of my valve?”

Orion shuddered, apparently winding himself up with his own words. His panel slid back, and the base of the toy appeared once more. His valve mesh was flushed and swollen with energon, internal calipers making it pulse and shift with their movement.

“Wore this to work sometimes on the days you were likely to show up,” Orion admitted, hips tilting up to _show Jazz_ , like he could look anywhere else, “Data work is a bit less physical than running across half of Iacon and dancing.”

“ _Orion_ ,” Jazz whimpered. He wasn’t sure where this was all culminating but he definitely wanted to know.

“Keep your servos there,” Orion ordered, but his lip was caught in his denta when Jazz looked up, like he was unsure of the force behind his words. Jazz nodded, gripping the arms of the chair. Orion smiled, sweet and small, before dropping one servo behind him to grip Jazz’s knee, the other falling to the base of the toy.

Jazz groaned as Orion pulled it out. Ridges slowly appeared, nodes sparking with false charge, and the whole thing shimmering with Orion’s lubricant. Orion dragged the tip of the toy over his mesh, servo tightening and releasing on Jazz’s knee.

“I was thinking about you,” Orion’s vents hitched as the toy caught on his valve entrance.

“What?” Jazz asked when he didn’t continue, feeling like he was working all his processes through dross.

“Before you interrupted me,” Orion’s vocalizer was starting to edge with static. He pushed the toy back in his valve, moving perfectly smoothly, “I had the day off.”

His vents deepened, servo moving the toy in and out of his valve slowly, “Spent most of the day looking forward to it.”

He paused his movements until Jazz met his optic. Orion smiled at him, “I got impatient.”

Jazz gripped the armchair harder. Orion changed up his rhythm, drawing the toy out slowly and pushing back in hard and fast. Jazz cycled his intake, “Do ya always answer the door in the middle of self-servicin’?”

“Most of the time, yeah,” Orion pushed the toy deep in his valve and held it, mesh visibly constricting in time with his internal calipers, “It’s usually just a delivery drone.”

“We gotta work on yer communication skills mech,” Jazz’s fans clicked up a speed, “Ya got depths I’m pretty desperate to plumb right now.”

Orion laughed, the noise choked and staticked, “Yeah? You finally gonna spike me?”

“Frag,” Jazz vented, “Whatever ya want darlin’, I’m feelin’ particularly tractable at the moment.”

“Big words,” Orion pulled the toy out of his valve, and Jazz was too busy watching his mesh to wonder where it went. Orion stood on shaky struts, looking critically at Jazz for a moment, “Slide down?”

Jazz obeyed, slouching in the chair until Orion stopped him with his aft nearly off the edge of the it. Orion _turned_ and Jazz nearly blew a few relays at the sight of him straddling Jazz’s pelvis and hovering over his panel. Orion bent at the waist, back arching as he placed a steadying servo on the back of the chair. Frag, he was so fragging _big_. Jazz always forgot, with how careful he was but there was no denying it now.

“Are you going to open your panel?” Orion huffed an exvent, “Or should I pick my toy up?”

Jazz’s panel retracted fast enough that it stung his panel recess. His spike pressurized immediately, standing at attention just this side of uncomfortable. Orion arched his back a little further to give it a long look, “Oh, Jazz I’m— Frag it.”

His free servo gave Jazz’s spike a quick stroke before he positioned them both and dropped down. Jazz brought his servos up to grip Orion’s waist as he threw his helm back, “Orion!”

“Primus,” Orion gasped, and Jazz could feel the way his abdominal plating quivered under his digits, “Jazz.”

Orion rolled his hips, plating scraping against Jazz’s and throwing off sparks, “That’s so good, Jazz.”

“Wanted your spike so much,” Orion continued. Jazz’s processor idly noted how different Orion was in interface that he actually preferred. The rest of him was busy trying to reel back from the knife edge of overload from his words alone.

“What else do ya want?” Jazz managed to grit out.

“So much,” Orion groaned, and started to move, lifting off Jazz’s spike intermittently as he rolled and ground their arrays together, “Wanted you to frag me in the bathroom of that club tonight.”

“Slag,” Jazz gasped, optics utterly entranced with his spike as it reappeared and disappeared in Orion’s valve, “I’d’ve done it.”

“I know,” Orion’s helm fell back, his intake long and enough to steal Jazz’s gaze, “I’ve talked to Ratchet.”

“Dirty pool,” Jazz chuckled, and finally got his wits about him to brace his pedes on the floor and shove up as Orion came down. They both froze as the impact spiraled through their connected nodes.

“Keep doing that,” Orion gasped, servo on the back of the chair gripping tighter as he turned back to watching Jazz.

“Gladly sweetspark,” Jazz let one of his servos wander to Orion’s spike housing, teasing at the recessed spike. When it didn’t pressurize he took a gamble and worked his digit in.

Orion swore and dropped his weight, barely catching himself before he crashed entirely into Jazz, “Now who’s— Oh _Primus_ — Dirty pool?”

Jazz pushed up just enough to kiss and lick at the top of Orion’s lateral seam under his arm, “Just finally playin’ with all the pieces to the puzzle.”

“All?” Orion snorted, rolling his hips in an absolutely filthy grind that pushed into Jazz’s digit in his spike housing, “More, maybe.”

“Yer mouthy when ya get fragged,” Jazz huffed.

“Give me something to shut up about,” Orion moaned and started moving in earnest. Charge that Jazz had been carefully suppressing began to build in his lines once more, and he held on with nothing but his own sense of pride.

“Gonna overload, sweetspark?” He panted, “Gonna show me just how loud ya can be when yer fragging yerself off?”

Orion’s hips stuttered, his weight dropping again as he hovered over Jazz with shaky struts. Jazz curled up and pressed his helm to Orion’s axillar seam, “Bet ya shout the whole building down when ya want to, huh?”

Orion’s movements became shaky and desperate, circles with his hips shortening. Jazz extricated his digit from Orion’s housing and dropped it to circle his anterior node, “Overload for me, babe.”

“Jazz,” Orion whimpered.

“Yeah,” Jazz agreed, “Right now. For me.”

Orion shivered, his calipers cycling down _hard_. A rumbling moan shook his chassis, and the sound and sight, Orion with his helm thrown back, hips still circling even while he overloaded harder than Jazz had ever seen him, tipped Jazz right over with him.

“ _Primus_ ,” Jazz gasped as aftershocks of charge skittered through his lines, “How are ya still even remotely standin’?”

“Locked my hydraulics,” Orion mumbled, completely static laden, “Gimme a minute to find the, um, the commands. I’ll get up.”

“Mkay,” Jazz agreed, “I really wanna eat you out in your washrack so…”

“ _Jazz_ ,” Orion groaned.

Jazz grinned.

\- - -

Jazz onlined slowly, autonomic systems working sluggishly. He did not want to be online, but something had pinged him. He rolled over in the empty berth, pushing his hydraulics to their limit and letting them sink slowly back to resting.

Empty berth.

Jazz unshuttered his optics, feeling around for his visor and snapping it back on. Ugh. It was far too early for the number of times he’d overloaded last night and he was feeling a little put out that Orion wasn’t utterly knocked out in the berth next to him still. He let his visor calibrate as he stumbled to his feet, dragging them to the berthroom door.

He stopped in the doorway at the sight of Orion humming and mixing energon, hips swinging to his own song.

Well that was a sight worth dragging himself online for. He leaned against the door frame, optics tracking down Orion’s frame; shoulders broad and steady even as his hips swung to his beat. Jazz followed the lines of lighting that seemed to do nothing but point directly to Orion’s aft, and let his gaze settle.

Orion slowed after a moment and stopped, “Hi.”

“Keep goin’,” Jazz said, not moving his optics.

Orion audibly cycled his intake before picking his humming back up, hips getting back into their swing. Jazz kept watching. He heard Orion’s fans click on.

“Open your panel,” Jazz said softly, remembering something Orion had said the night before. Panel locks sounded without Orion breaking his rhythm. A cube of energon was nudged across the counter in Jazz’s direction. 

Orion’s own sat as he turned and started wiping down the dispenser, putting additives back away. All the while his hips moved in a hypnotizing dance, made all the more watchable by the occasional peeks of array offered. Jazz let himself move forward, grabbing and sipping at his cube as Orion found things to straighten in his tiny and neat refueling area.

He tore his optics away from Orion to stare at his cube. Tungsten. Not exactly a basic additive. Nothing expensive, but very particular in terms of taste. His spark skipped a cycle.

“Orion,” He said, setting the cube down and crowding Orion into the counter.

“Yes?” He sounded ventless and worked up already, and the heat Jazz felt when their plating touched proved just how much he really _did_ enjoy being watched like that. Jazz hugged him and nuzzled his face into Orion’s backstrut.

“Put yer servos on the counter and tilt yer hips back,” Jazz said, a slight inflective on the glyphs. His spark cycle wobbled again when Orion did it. He pressed a sucking kiss between Orion’s shoulders and dropped to his knees.

“ _Jazz_ ,” Orion groaned, hips tilting back even further and pulling his valve mesh open just enough to expose his flickering anterior node. Jazz shuffled forward until he was nearly under Orion, trailing his digits over wheel wells as he situated himself.

He didn’t bother with much teasing, just pushed himself up to reach and licked a swath over Orion’s mesh.

“Primus,” Orion yelped, and Jazz heard the telltale sounds that he missed last night of hydraulics locking. Jazz grinned and kept running his glossa in long strokes all over Orion’s mesh, never pushing hard enough to catch in on his valve entrance, “ _Jazz_ , please.”

Jazz hummed and Orion moaned. His calipers clenched hard enough that Jazz felt them moving through his mesh, and lubricant started to drool out against Jazz’s mouth.

“This is going to be over—” Orion gasped as Jazz pushed and laved his glossa at Orion’s valve entrance, “Oh, embarrassingly _fast_. Jazz you— Your _optics_ —”

Jazz rewarded the words with another hum and his glossa pushing into Orion’s valve. 

Orion sobbed and his chest dropped down onto the counter, “I ju-just— It’s so hard to tell what you’re _thinking_.”

Jazz pulled his digits out of Orion’s wheel well and snaked his servo up to rest his palm against Orion’s anterior node to grind into, while his glossa picked up a shallow thrusting rhythm into him. Orion moaned, “Like you could want to do _anything_ to me and I-I’d never know until it happened.”

His hips moved, pressing hard into Jazz’s palm and then back onto his glossa. He seemed to have given up on words, vocalizer nothing but small ah’s and moans. He kept pace for a long few kliks before locking up and overloading. 

Jazz hummed at the charge that grounded against his face plate, working his servo against Orion’s node until he slumped even further into the counter. 

Jazz drew back and kissed Orion’s thigh, “Yer dangerous, mech.”

“Should be my line,” Orion groaned, “Primus, Jazz.”

“Should drink yer energon,” Jazz grinned against Orion’s plating. Slagging _tungsten_. This mech was more than dangerous, he was approaching deadly. 

Jazz managed to get up and have another sip at his own cube before Orion had the wherewithal to pin him to the counter for his own turn.

\- - -

“Ratch, m’mech,” Jazz threw his arms up over his head and slid down a little in the booth, “Life is truly fantastic.”

Ratchet snorted, but his optics didn’t rise from his drink.

“Ask me how the interfacin’ last night was,” Jazz kicked at Ratchet lightly under the table.

“How was the interfacing last night, Jazz?” Ratchet dutifully parroted.

“Phenomenal, but this mornin’ was better,” Jazz lifted his visor with a digit and winked.

Ratchet offered him a weak smile. Jazz frowned, “Wha’s wrong, babe?”

Ratchet deflated just a little, slouching down over the table, “It’s incredibly stupid.”

“Nah,” Jazz snagged Ratchet’s servo in his own, “Not if it’s got ya this down.”

“Kid I TA,” Ratchet looked up and Jazz nodded. Sleek Red, involved with that pretty red Racer that Ratchet had been ogling. Hot Rod, “He pulled out of the class. I’m just...I’m worried I offended him I guess.”

“Ya offend everyone,” Jazz said, “M’sure it’s nothin’.”

“Hot Rod used to pick him up after class,” Ratchet groaned, dropping his helm to the table, “I, um, may have gotten caught staring.”

“ _Ratchet_ ,” Jazz struggled to hold back his laughter. He gave himself a moment, “Ya really got it bad, huh?”

“I’ve never felt more targeted in regards to my type in my entire functioning,” Ratchet’s voice tipped back into a more familiar territory of grouchy. Jazz took that as his due to let his snicker loose, bearing Ratchet taking his servo back to swat at him with dignity.

“There’ll be other pretty frames to ogle,” Jazz soothed, grin belaying any seriousness behind the statement.

“You’re terrible,” Ratchet hauled his helm back up though, and Jazz considered it a win. His optics widened at something behind Jazz, “Oh Primus frag me right into the Pits.”

Jazz flickered his sensors up and worked out that two sleek and light frames had entered the bar. The shape of tire winglets confirmed his suspicions, “Well—”

“You’re a hard mech to find,” A smooth voice from behind Jazz, “And I can’t exactly skip my new class to go to your hours.”

Jazz sunk down even further in his seat and watched two red frames come around to the entrance of their booth.

“New class,” Ratchet said, apparently too dumbfounded to say anything else. Jazz swallowed another snicker at the way his mouth hung open.

“I won’t be accused of ‘facing my way through any requirements,” Sleek sniffed and Hot Rod choked next to him.

“Knock Out,” He hissed, elbowing Knock Out right in a lateral seam.

Hot Rod and Knock Out. 

Only Ratchet. Primus frag him into the Pits was _right_.

“Ratchet, right?” Hot Rod said, apparently that much more polite than his...Knock Out, “Um, we just— I thought, and Knock Out, um—”

“Wanna come back to ours and clang for longer than is medically advisable?” Knock Out smirked and Jazz about choked. He darted his optics back and forth between the two and Ratchet.

Both Ratchet and Hot Rod had pinked up considerably, and Ratchet’s mouth was still just hanging open. Jazz saw the bravado in Knock Out’s frame start to weaken, so he kicked Ratchet under the table. Hard.

“Slag,” Ratchet hissed, but seemed to finally unstick, “Uh, yes— I—”

He glanced at Jazz who waved him away with a smirk, “Go teach them new meanings to ‘medically inadvisable’.”

Ratchet slid out of the booth, still a little dazed. Hot Rod attached himself to his side pretty quickly as they walked away. Jazz turned in the booth, yelling loud enough to hear, “Show them that thing ya can do with yer servos! Ya know the one I mean!”

Ratchet didn’t look back as he flipped a rude gesture before slipping out the door.

\- - -

Jazz moved through the data stacks with utmost care to stay quiet.

It was late, the middle of third shift, and Orion was around somewhere. Jazz had just knocked off a long double first and second shift that bled even longer into third, and as much as he wanted to go back to Orion’s apartment and recharge until the mech in question came back, he wasn’t going to waste this opportunity.

Third shift at the Archives was...empty.

Orion had explained once, it was an ideal time to reshelve and track down missing datapads, dataslugs, and the like while a drone manned the main desk. It was also a time that very few archivists were working.

Jazz slunk down another row of stacks, sensors still up and humming from his shift. There was some scuffling and very distinct humming coming a few stacks over. Jazz moved slowly down a new pathway and carefully looked around a corner.

Orion hummed softly as he worked, dim lighting of the Archives throwing his features into sharp respite. Jazz watched each new flash of plating as he twisted between a cart loaded with dataslugs and the stacks. He sighed, soft enough not to startle, but enough to be heard.

Orion’s optics burned into Jazz where he stood, not bothering to hide that he’d been watching, “It’s very late.”

“Jus' got off shift,” Jazz whispered, coming fully around the corner to run into Orion.

“Mm,” Orion hummed, putting a dataslug down and wrapping Jazz up in his arms, “You should be recharging.”

“Prob’ly,” Jazz agreed, “Had somethin’ important I needed.”

“What’s that?” Orion asked, but the way his plating flared and resettled made Jazz smirk.

“I really need to polish yer spike,” Jazz said, and wriggled his way out of Orion’s loose hold to drop to his knees, “In fact, I need it so bad, I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

“Jazz,” Orion whispered, sounding scandalized, but his panel locks clicked. 

“Orion,” Jazz smiled up at him, and he knew there was far too much affection in the expression, “Better keep quiet. Think I passed a coworker of yer’s a few dozen mechanometers back.”

“ _Jazz_ ,” Orion hissed, panel snapping back and spike pressurizing to full right away.

Jazz didn’t say anything, just swallowed him down. His intake worked against the sparking nodes of Orion’s spike. Orion whimpered around the servo he’d stuffed in his mouth.

It was fantastic.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me about robots on twitter [@floralpunkcfb](https://twitter.com/floralpunkcfb)


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